The Little Match Girl
by Velvet J. Curtains
Summary: Clarissa Fray's brother died when she was 8. She was left to the horrors of Victorian London, with her parents. And when her father kicks her out with a box of matches she has no choice but to live on the streets. Based on The little match girl by Hans Christian Anderson. This is a one-shot and implies Clace. Please Review.


**The little match girl**

**Based on the story by Hans Christian Anderson**

**JPOV:**

You don't know pain until you see someone you don't know dead. At first I didn't even think she was human, much less alive. I had walked past that alley hundreds of times and in none of those times had I seen the red and grey lump, surrounded by used matches.

Isabelle and Alec were walking ahead, early on Christmas morning. I walked slowly behind them gazing around. I'd had the most unusual dream that night. A girl, probably about 16 years old, wandering the streets of London, where I lived, her feet bare, covered in grey rags, the only source of colour on her was her flaming hair and emerald eyes. In her hands she carried a small box of matches, probably to sell. She had been at home, hoping that it would be warmer there but there were holes in the walls and her father wasn't helping much. In the end he had sent her out with the matches telling her not to come back until she had sold the whole box.

_Impossible, _she had thought, _I might as well not come back at all._ She had left the house wearing her father's slippers but had lost one in the small blizzard and the other after jumping out of the way of a speeding carriage. In the end she sat down in the corner of an alley, giving up on the hope of being warm. He nose was pink, lips blue and she couldn't feel her fingers or toes. The moth-eaten shawl she kept on her shoulders wasn't offering and warmth, whatsoever. Her stiff fingers moved to the small pocket in her apron. The small box of matches rested there. She picked them up and opened the box, pulling a single match out.

She struck it against the alley wall. It flared to life, sending a wave of warmth through her. She closed her eyes watching the colours burst behind her eyelids. When she opened her eyes again there was a hot stove before her. She shuffled forward, pushing her feet up to warm them. But the match went out and the stove disappeared. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness again and she reached for the box she had dropped. Pulling another out her stomach growled and pain seared through her abdomen. She struck it against the wall and the flame settled on the match. This time, she was in a room, a long dining table set for a dozen. Turkeys, chickens, pork roast, potatoes **(A/N: Boil em', mash em', stick em' in a stew.), **vegetables, everything she could ever think of.

She reached out to take a chicken drumstick and the match went out. She hurriedly picked up another match and lit it, wondering what would appear this time. In front of her stood a huge Christmas tree, covered in decorations, candles, an angel stood on the top, singing, but not making a sound. Her eyes widened at such a beautiful thing. She had never seen anything so gorgeous in her life. She reached out, if just to touch the branches, to feel the texture. And it disappeared like everything else.

She didn't hesitate this time, she took all the matches from the box and struck them against the wall. She stared around the alley, getting to her feet, looking for something, anything.

"Clarissa," A voice called. The girl jumped and stared at the mouth of the alley. He stood there, broad shouldered, salt white hair, black eyes and strong arms, outstretched as if to take her home. "Clary, Clary come home."

"Jonathan!" Clary yelled running towards the boy. He took her in his arms, burying his face in her wild hair.

"Clary, come home with me, to where you belong." He took her hand and walked her out of the alley. She dropped the matches and followed behind him, like a lost child that had been found. He ran and she followed her feet barely touching the ground. She no longer felt cold. She felt as if there was a small fire in her heart, her soul, burning to an inferno and lighting her up with warmth and happiness.

She had completely left the ground, chasing the boy through the sky towards the stars. Dancing and singing, she laughed with him, leading her to the sky, holding her hand the entire way.

Then I saw the thing in the alley, scattered matches everywhere. I called Isabelle and Alec towards the alley as I ran towards her. I knelt down beside her, brushing the hair away from her pale face. Her emerald eyes were unmoving bellow her eyelids. The shaggy hair gave way to the fact she had frozen to death. Her stiff fingers held something, something small, that was wrapped around her throat.

A necklace, with a steel ring hung from the chain. The ring had an M with a pattern of stars engraved on the metal.

"M. M for what?" Isabelle whispered.

"Well maybe it's her last name," Alec said observantly.

"Maybe. But the poor thing must have tried to use the matches to warm herself." Isabelle was focusing on the matches. I didn't speak, just tried to rub some warmth into her tiny, blue hands. I wondered who she would have become if she hadn't died? I didn't think I would ever know. But from then on she would always be to me, the little match girl.

**Hey, this came to me a couple months ago I just never got to writing it till now. I want to know what you thought of it, so review! As always, so evil of me!**

**Yours Truly, Gemma! (Formally Velvet J. Curtains!) (:**


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